Malric’s gaze sharpened. “And the king comes here himself.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Sometimes.”
“How often?” Malric pressed.
Aveline’s breath came fast. “I don’t know. He doesn’t—he doesn’t announce himself. He just appears. And if you’re here when he does?—”
Her voice broke on the last word.
The girl’s panic spiked, as a tightening in the air, a shift in scent that made my instincts surge again. My magic stirred, clouds gathering somewhere far above the tower, though I couldn’t see them. The pressure built under my ribs, threatening to swamp me.
I wanted to grab Malric and drag him back down the stairs.
I wanted to stay right where I was and breathe her in until my head emptied of everything else.
Both urges terrified me.
Malric’s gaze flicked briefly toward the doorway as if measuring time. Then he looked back at Aveline, his voice controlled again. “If the king is your father, then you’re in the center of this war whether you want to be or not.”
Aveline shook her head, frantic. “War? No. I don’t know anything. I don’t—I don’t even know what happens outside. He doesn’t tell me. He just says it’s safer.”
Malric’s eyes narrowed. “Safer for whom?”
Aveline’s breath hitched, and for the first time, she looked at Malric as if she saw him fully, not just as a threat, but as something she couldn’t place.
“Safer for everyone and me. If I hurt anyone else, he wouldn’t be able to protect me.”
Malric scoffed. “He’s the king. He can do whatever he wants. Believe me, he has been doing that for years. If you’re his daughter, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to save you.”
She hugged herself, rocking slightly on her feet, her head focused down. Panic remained high. I sensed we were about to lose her if we pushed too hard.
The tower hummed underfoot.
The scent thickened.
Caught between them, I sensed the tension in my bond with Malric due to recent events. The mission had become complicated, and I knew the outcome would either unite us or divide us.
Chapter Four
MALRIC
The room was too warm.
Not from fire or sun, but from her. From the way her scent had soaked into the stone, into the linens, into the air itself until every breath carried it deep, bypassing reason and drilling straight into instinct. Warm honey. Sweet spice. Silver blossom. It coated the back of my throat like syrup.
Mine.
The word came with my pulse, sharp and uninvited. I kept my face still as if my body were not turning against me one slow inch at a time, my alpha tightening in my chest, my hand itching to reach, to anchor, to take.
I didn’t move. I clawed for my discipline, needing it to keep me from drawing in her scent.
I watched Aveline with the same detachment I used on a battlefield, cataloging details that mattered and forcing the rest into a locked box. Her posture pinned to the wall. Her hands at her stomach. Her gaze darting between Thane and me as if deciding which blade would fall first.
Aveline said her father was the king.
That single fact rearranged the entire mission in my head, shifting pieces into place with brutal efficiency. The Wyrdwood.The binding stones. The tower that didn’t belong in this forest. The wards layered like cages within cages. This was not a random prison. It was a vault.
The king hid his most valuable assets where only old magic could keep them.
